


an erection like a motherfucker

by t34lbloods (perculious)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, very mild hints of incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perculious/pseuds/t34lbloods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You guys are writing fucking wizard porn."</p>
<p>"When it's written, it's usually referred to as erotica," Rose says. "And wizards are only tangentially involved."</p>
            </blockquote>





	an erection like a motherfucker

**Author's Note:**

> written for HSWC bonus round 1, for the following prompt:
> 
> Dirk/Rose/Dave  
> "She showed him a passage and he got an erection like a motherfucker."  
> Junot Diaz, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

"The fuck do you guys even talk about?"

Rose raises an eyebrow, or tries to; Dave knows she was working on raising one eyebrow for the entire three years they were on the meteor. She's almost got it, now, but the muscles above her left eye still quirk up slightly, and her forehead creases a fraction with the tension of keeping them down.

"Are you asking me to pull back the dense veil of idle conversation for you, Dave?" she says. "We talk. I understand your adolescent social development has been stunted by prolonged—"

"Fucking Christ, don't start," Dave says. He leans back in his chair and crosses his hands behind his head. They're stowed away in John's teen nanna's house on the creepy dark planet, because it's got nicer amenities than the space rock, even after three years of trying. "Don't try to act like it's normal for your slime-sis to be getting all chummy with your teenage alt-universe dad-bro. What could you guys possibly have in common? Do you take him by the hand, all _I can show you the world_ —"

"I think I see where our miscommunication is occurring," Rose says, folding her hands on top of her crossed knee. "You seem to presume that every social interaction carried out by any member of the group is somehow centered around you. A common delusion for the sixteen-year-old male, especially when repressing fantasies of—"

"—Rose, come on—"

"—a taboo and unsavory nature," Rose continues.

"Okay, the whole 'Dave, you're secretly gay and in love with your own feces' thing is getting—"

"While it may be startling for you, from the pit of your Dave-centric universe, seeing the world in a symphony of a thousand varying shades of Dave, for your sister to be friends with the genetic reconstruction of your father figure, for me it makes perfect sense. An intelligent man about my age with whom I share interests, and who is, to the well-tuned eye, rather handsome—"

"Fucking gross." Dave screws up his face. If it's weird to think of Dirk and Rose as friends—and it is, Dave kind of wishes Dirk would refrain from getting involved in any part of Dave's life ever, thanks—it's even weirder to think of them flirting. Except they're not, right, because Rose is fucking with him. Rose chooses her words just to fuck with him, and that's why there's no reason for the weird twist in his stomach when he sees them leaned in close together, whispering in the hallways and then laughing openly. He's not even sure why the thought makes him so uncomfortable, except for the low-grade ickiness of his bro and his sister—it's kind of her dad, and anyway, do they talk about him? They have to, right? "Share interests"—all Dirk's interested in is robot parts and puppet ass, Dave is literally the only thing they have in common.

"We are collaborators," Rose says primly.

"Collaborators." Dave frowns. "On what, the verbose dickbag handbook?"

Rose inhales through her nose and sits back, clearly winding up for a big Rose speech. "As someone with literary inclinations, I have long been frustrated in my attempts to engage creatively with—"

"Rose."

"He and I share somewhat more… prurient interests."

There's a certain quirk to her lips and a tilt to her eyebrows that Dave associates with smug declarations that the person he's just professed attraction to is related to him, or offhand comments that somehow drag a sexual desire he thought well-hidden kicking and screaming into the light. The penny drops.

"You guys are writing fucking wizard porn."

"When it's written, it's usually referred to as erotica," Rose says. "And wizards are only tangentially involved."

"Jesus god." Dave covers his face with his hands, taking a moment to feel his bone-deep disappointment that this is the only family he has now. He never would have wanted Bro and Rose to hang out; he should have known that them getting along would be even worse.

"Okay," he says, peeking out through his fingers. "Okay. You're going to make me read it, aren't you."

-

The velvety ciliae carpeting Plushy's ample haunches ruffled in the slight breeze of the clearing situated near the center of Smuppet Forest. As Probey gazed upon his might, she felt a deep instinct stir within her, unusual since instincts are typically the result of years of evolutionary breeding, and the unfortunate Probey was naught but a literary abstraction, the two-dimensional elucidation of the three-dimensional inanimate, for the purposes of satisfying a yearning for the plush and sensuous. Probey raised her firm, twitching proboscis, scenting Plushy's musk on the wind.

Since the wind was apparently blowing downwind from Plushy, according to the conventional respect for details provided by one's co-creator, he couldn't smell her. Although if he had, the aroma might have been that of the finest fucking bouquet of pheromones and similar biological indicators of sexual readiness that ever reared its genetic head among the true-bred smuppet race. Still, with the animal senses inborn in smuppets when they appear as animate constructions and not in their typical aquiecesent plush forms, he could hear her delicate tread. Although he did not yet wish to turn and acknowledge her presence, he waggled his buttocks, the shapeliest fuckin' pair of back-door billows in the whole goddamn forest. He knew they were of exceptional plushness attributes, and even a jiggling motion such as this would fail to dislodge any metal-based currency that might have found its way onto those rolling felt hills.

Probey did not fail to notice Plushy's coy greeting. How could she, when the ripples the jiggling motion sent through Plushy's smooth, furry body caused his entire glossy exterior to tremble, like the skin stretched taut over the mouth of a drum when it has been freshly struck. But she bristled—metaphorically, although she possessed the capability for a literal interpretation, being covered with fine silky filaments—at his reticence to turn and face her, phallic projection to phallic projection. Probey did not take kindly to coyness; she demanded notice. And she would receive it, she thought smugly, in a notion both indicating her considerable powers of seduction, and serving as a directional nudge to Plushy's esteemed auteur.

In the back of her mind, she wondered if it was too soon to engage the teachings of her smuppet teacher, a magister who had been learned in the arts of magicks.

It's too soon.

Along with a proboscis of unusual girth, Probey was also possessed of a unique ability to ignore condescending editorial drivel.


End file.
